


The Game of Art

by LadyLaumes



Category: DCU, DCU (Movies), Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Art, Bondage, Camcorder, F/M, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, Painting, Recording, Rope Bondage, Videotaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLaumes/pseuds/LadyLaumes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Joker gets bored and needs to break in a bed, he calls on the woman that he has been stalking for a little while. Perhaps "calls on" is the wrong phrase, surely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Game of Art

**Author's Note:**

> ATTENTION: This story is best viewed in a word processing document with the following items replaced with the corresponding words.  
> After copying and pasting the document into an editable file, use the find and replace tool in these ways:
> 
> r/n - Reader's name. Use a nickname or what you would like to be called throughout the story.  
> r/b/n - Reader's name in bold. Exactly what it sounds like. Ex: **Katie**.  
>  r/i/n - Reader's name in italics. Exactly what it sounds like. Ex: _Katie_.  
>  s/c - Skin color. Because I have to be ambiguous with these things, it needs to be something like dark or light, not a specific shade. Stick to tonal adjectives.  
> h/c - Hair color.
> 
> Or if you really want to have fun with it, go ahead and treat it like madlibs, using the find tool and manually replacing them. If you feel like you're encroaching on Harley's territory, go right ahead and place her attributes in the proper locations and you can still enjoy the story that way.
> 
> Enjoy ;3
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is no way. Just...no way. I had dreamt of this moment for so long...of course, deep inside of me I knew it could never turn out well. Yet here I am. Wrapped up to this rickety, wooden chair like a fucking present; bundled up in heavy chain, twine, string, straps of burlap and that really coarse rope that I'm pretty sure sailors use. I shake my head, trying to reason with myself that this is just some elaborate prank by my friends...the ones who always worried about me, the ones that silently wished I would like someone that didn't have a reputation for causing pain and misery.

But...I am me. Unfortunately or not. As if my body wishes to concur, it bucks against its haphazardly robust restraints, filling me with some untimely pleasure. Groaning, I let my head fall back, trying to find a comfortable way to wait for whoever put those paint cans in the corner by the door to come back. Although there is only one light (a naked bulb flickering above my head), I can see the extent of the room. It's small, bare and grey. Not even the good kind of grey. The kind of grey that leaves you feeling dull, helpless and...horny? What in the world is wrong with me?

And in this instant, the door snaps open to a darkness that seems to go on forever. Is there...anyone even there? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe something even more fearsome is sitting there, ready to lunge at my face and devour me. **Nope**. No, I was right before...only wrong in assuming that some ungodly beast lunging at me would be more terrifying than the paint-sodden face that stares at me now.

He doesn't speak...only places his dirtied camcorder and its already connected tripod down on the hard concrete flooring, habitually licking his lips, and trying to find the perfect distance and angle at which to record whatever deliciously sickening thing he's going to do to my body. Or face. He's all about the face, after all.

"You uhh....You seem more fascinated than terrified." He belts out a high pitched laugh, half-way forced and the other half completely legitimate. "What's _wrong_ with you?" A few more chortles roll out of his scarred up mouth. But I just can't help what happens next...his smiles have always been so infectious, his laughter a disease that I just couldn't build an immunity to.

His mouth drops, but he smiles on, rushing toward me and gripping my hair with his incredibly strong fingers, pulling it all to one side...just enough to strain a muscle in my neck.

"Ah!" Twinges in the muscles of my face are telling me that my features must be melting into pain and confusion. Although why I'm confused about mood swings from he-who-appears-to-be-the-Joker, I have no clue.

"There it is... **that** 's prettier. **_That_** 's an emotion I like." He lets go, carelessly pushing me back the opposite way from which he had pulled me, as a child might do to snap a ruined toy's body part back into place. He turns his back to me and begins a very comical strut in the direction of the paint cans.

"Is pain an emotion?" I can't help the sarcasm from sticking to my inflections; I can't even help speaking against my better judgment. He turns his head before flipping his body theatrically, bringing his careful, crafty hands toward the ceiling, challengingly.

"Oh...oh-ho-ho-ho-ho..." Without restraint, the Joker plasters his face right up next to mine, breathing on me and continuing that obnoxious ( _erotic_ ) laugh...he's so intensely close that I can see that the features that are just so distinctive of the icon are real. This isn't stage-paint..."We've got a smart-mouthed one on our show today." He looks toward the camera and smiles just that tiny bit more before looking back at me. "I wonder if there's anything we can do about that..." He begins his laugh again, shaking his shoulders, touching his scars... _the scars that certainly aren't made of silicone_. No...whoever this is has definitely taken his job seriously. At least he's attractive. If I have to be killed, it might as well be a killing done by someone nice to look at, right?

A sharp slap connects with the side of my head, obviously not intending to do real harm, but somehow definitely succeeding...like he doesn't know his own strength. Or maybe he does. One never really knows how much restraint a man like this could actually have; after all, he's boasting that he's an agent of chaos. And he seems intelligent enough to understand how much power that gives him.

"Answer me!"

"What did you say?" I smile, stupidly confident as always. The man grabs my shoulders and shakes them violently, spewing tiny driblets of saliva on my face from his laughter.

"Oh! You're hilarious!" My neck is _aching_...crap...why did I have to go and do that...? "I _saaaaiiiiid_...What's your name, pretty girl?" His eyes catch mine, sparkling brilliantly, almost like he doesn't have me tied up here in this creepy room in front of a creepy camera with creepy paint cans--  
"r/n." Oh. Or my mouth can just talk over my thoughts. Whatever.

"Oh. Oh now that's lovely. r/n." He repeats it, taking the syllables in his mouth and spitting them out like wine that he really just wants to drink. "Well, r/n. Let's play a little...game." He draws a thoughtful hand to his chin. "Where do you think you are?"

I decide to take my time with this one. There's an obvious answer here, but I just don't want to take the chance of him accidentally breaking my neck. That sort of death would be far too quick for me. No, I need to actually play his game...not only to stay alive but because it's _much_ more fun than the alternative.

"In what respect?" The Joker moves his head around, incredulously.

"In its only respect."

"It's actually a very vague question. You could be asking for a preposition or specific place names or even--"

"A place! Tell me where you are!" If it weren't for the white paint covering his face, I'm sure his face would be red hot with frustration.

"Your house." He smiles: embitterment to ecstasy in one swift instant.

"And why do you say that?" The last 't' explodes on his tongue like the first blast of pressured helium released from its canister.

"Because you might be more comfy bringing a pretty girl to your house rather than to some unknown place. We all know how much of a gentleman you are." My eyes flicker to the camera before settling back on his, a sly smile twisting my lips.

"I was actually asking why you thought I had a house." Oh.

"Well, I dunno...I mean you're pretty good at getting what you want, aren't you?" A very uncharacteristic smirk graces his lips.

"Flattery will get you everywhere my dear. But..." He steps closer to me again, carefully placing his hands on the back of my chair, the underside of his forearms warm against my bare shoulders. "What do you know about what," he draws a hand up and points at his face with a stiff finger, " _I_ want?"

"Alright, then tell me what you _do_ want, my dear Joker." The man stands up straight, finally away from my face, almost-foul-breath done wreaking its havoc on my nostrils. He turns away from me for a few seconds before resettling his gaze on me, his fingers pulled into tents beneath his chin.

"I want to see you suffer. I want to hear your screams." The fluorescent light catches in his glimmering eyes in such a way that tells me he's dreamed of this for at least a few days. Carefully planned this out. Well this just got real. What must be the terror in my eyes extracts a guffaw from his manly throat. " _Yes_! Oh yes! Even _you_ can give that look to me!" He jumps back, clapping and dancing a in a way that reminds me of a satyr in a children's movie, a look of absolute elation on his face...his happiness betrays my betrothal to fear, his infectious joy spills over me; it twirls my mouth in ways that should not be possible for one who's about to embark on a voyage of pain.

"SMILING _**again**_?!" He shouts, suddenly in my face, his lips nearly hitting mine, hands clamped roughly in my surely messy hair. "Why do you keep....SMILING?!" The Joker pulls his hands down toward the back of the chair, exposing my neck, goose bumps prickling at my bondaged arms.

"Ah! I-I dunno! Why so goddamn serious?!" I stifle a laugh at having actually used his own line at a time like this. Do I have a death-wish? Well...I suppose that's an obvious answer, why would I find myself so utterly intrigued by this--  
"AH-HAHAHA!" He roughly lets go, pulling a few hairs out of my head in the process. As he moves away, turning around again, the h/c strands glisten in the minimal light before falling to the concrete floor in their own completely separate piles. The Joker turns around again, hunched with his head hung low enough to freeze what small hope I had of this turning out to be just really kinky sex. "You wanna know _why_ I'm so serious?" He twiddles his fingers in the air for a second then fluidly reaches into the exposed pocket of his vest. Licking his lips, he pulls out nothing but the fingers that went into the pocket in the first place. His hand pats the pocket just enough to let the fabric ripple around a small pointed object. A key?

The man leaves the room, still hunched, still serious. I take a second to look at myself. Well at least I woke up like I went to sleep. I'm still in my pajamas....although I dread to think what my house looks like now. He probably painted a nice big imprint of his face on the wall. Maybe he signed my Joker posters...

He walks in again, easily carrying a stool. With a loud clang of wood on cement, the seat is set down and he straddles it, exposing the extremely good fit of his pants. It's unfortunate that all the hot guys are crazy. He grabs my head and puts something against my mouth. Oh. The key? Key? Why the fuck did I think the Joker of all people only had a key in his pocket? No...no, _this_ is a knife. I can feel the blade tease the corner of my mouth...but strangely never breaking skin. At least not that I can tell.

"I just thought I would make it more comfortable for myself while I did all of this." He blasts a laugh into my face and jumps in his chair, roughly wobbling my head in time to his movements. I am going to have the worst whiplash. Or I won't because I'll be dead.

Not being able to respond without hurting myself, I simply stare at him...him and those glistening, dark, hazel eyes...like dirty toxic waste. But pretty. So perhaps that's a bad comparison.

"Anywayyy," he licks his lips again (they must be aching by now...just wanna slather him in chapstick), "I was telling you the story of why I'm so serious. It's a good story. There are hookers and explosions and questionable morals. Everything Hollywood tells you is necessary for a complete life. And I've had it all!" A high-pitched hiss from the back of his throat disintegrates into giggles that want to tear apart the only meaning of sound that I know. "But it can leave one with a rather _nasty_ taste in their mouth. One that I tried to purge." Another lick glazes his lips in sloppy saliva as he brings the knife out of my mouth and points toward his own, rolling his eyes like his actions were obvious. "I was never **smi** ling. That was...the only thing from the movies that I lacked. So I took this knife." He looks at the corner of my mouth and places the knife in its place again. It's place..."This knife right here." He keeps looking at the knife, tensing his muscles. "And I SLICED--" He pulls the knife out of my mouth after digging into it with his thumb. I go to scream only to find that there's no pain...just a gentle throbbing. But there's blood all down my legs. "My face to hell." My eyes frantically wander about the knife until they catch the gentle dripping of the reddest paint he's ever used. With a flicker of my vision to his face, I catch his lips smacking, the most amused of contracted cheeks taunting my sensations. Did he really not cut me? Is the pain just delayed? Did he use pain killers on me?

"Is something wrong, r/n?" He lets out a soft laugh, rather unlike the violent ones that he's accosted my senses with prior.

"Did...did you cut me?" The Joker purses his lips and lets his eyes become half-lidded.

"What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Well I can't tell!" He looks off to the side briefly, obviously annoyed. Without his usual vigor, the man steps forward and kneels down before me, ignoring his stool, and brings his thumb about a foot from my face, his other hand at my neck.

"Now, _why_ would I cut you?" I stare at the blood that's oozing out of his wound, honestly just wanting to bandage him up and feed him chicken noodle soup until he's all better.

"That's what you do." He raises his eyebrows, fidgeting his head around.

"Oh?" He looks at his thumb. "And I'm just supposed to do what I... _ **do**_?" He stands, taking his thumb into his mouth, sucking on it and staring at me. If I had a dick, I would think he was trying to seduce me. I mean this is still sexy and I'm a lady. As if to pull me from my thoughts, the Joker slaps his ass down on the stool once again. "You've _obviously_ got the wrong idea about me."

"And," I swallow, licking at the side of my mouth just to make sure there's not a magic trick hidden within this most obvious joke of his, "...and what's the right idea about you?" Without answering he takes the knife into the same hand and softly digs it underneath the left strap of my camisole. He pulls on it lightly and it rips through the fabric like a searing flame through tissue. It's a good thing my camisole is so tight-- _oh wait_...no need. There are chains over my breasts. And _around_ them. Wow. Talk about lift and separate. He cuts the other strap with just as little toil.

"Well. I don't think there _is_ a right idea about me." He flips the knife into his other hand, his posture tightening up slightly. With the fingers of his wounded hand, he plays with the chains at my breast, my body's temperature having heated them half-way through. "You consider yourself a...fan of my work. Right? The posters and the little voodoo dolls. I hope you used those properly by the way. That fabric can get a little... **rough**!" He spits another chortle at my face, surprising me like the first kernel to explode in a batch of popcorn. Oh right. Rough. Like how he's tossed me around so far. Does that mean he likes his sex rough?--  
The hand at the back of my neck reaches up into my mess of bed head and latches around some clumps of hair that badly need to be brushed through.

"Your hair is a little...messy, my dear." He smiles at me, his cheeks plushing up in a way that simply looks painful. "Would you like me to brush it?" I can feel the skin around my eyes tense up as I try to contemplate reasons why he would want to brush my hair.

"It...kind of depends." The hazel orbs in front of me dart back and forth before he shrugs, as if to encourage more words to come out of my mouth. "Are you going to be _rough_?" A hurt expression flashes over his features.

"Why would I be rough? I know how to brush hair." As if to emphasize his point, he crosses his legs in a feminine way, smiles and flips a few tendrils of his gorgeously poorly-dyed mop of hair. I huff out a laugh through my nose, smiling ever so slightly.

"Well it's not _your_ hair. You might not know what the right pressure is. Besides I'm worried about your thumb." His eyes slit at the last word.

"A little blood never hurt anyone." Abruptly, the Joker stands and turns to go, posture fallen to its deepest state all over again.

"I meant you might hurt it while brushing me."

"Brushing you..." An almost silent laugh emanates from behind the man's back as she casually makes his way out of the room.

Alone again. He sure likes to just stop everything to go get new props, doesn't he? Why didn't he tie me up in a more convenient spot? 

The sound of things being thrown around and something made of glass being broken followed by cursed mutterings reminds me that this is _The Joker_. r/n, please try and be a little more scared. He keeps making me lose any apprehension about him, though. I guess that's part of the plan. He _does_ like springing surprises, after all...

Movement at the door snaps me from my thoughts; I see him there, standing, staring at me with a brush in his hand like it's the knife that will kill me. He licks his lips and starts toward me, but backs up, rocking on his heels. He's...dancing? A small, practiced tune resonates from his lips as he gracefully hustles toward me, landing in his chair and taking a part of my hair in his good hand, brushing through the ends with a demeanor opposite to that which consumed him near the frame of the door.

"So. Maybe _now_ you'd like to tell me what it is I want." His brushing gets a little farther up my ratted hair, his touch and tug as tender as one might hold a kitten. Although not like _he_ would hold a kitten. Didn't he try to blow up a box of kittens once? Why the hell do I like this guy again?

"r/n." He looks at me with a rather dull look in his eyes. "You'll need to stop losing yourself in your thoughts. In case you haven't noticed, this film is all about _me_." He doesn't laugh this time, however, leaving an empty silence in my ears.

"Actually, _I_ 'm the one in the middle. Spotlight's trained on me." He rolls his eyes and roughly shoves my chair over (not to topple but dangerously close to it), replacing the spot that I just occupied with himself, his stool still neatly underneath his toosh.

"Stop stalling." Getting right back to brushing, his last word sings fervently against the echoing dampness of the room before he whistles over my response.

"Fine. _Apparently_ you just want to be the center of attention." A grin spreads across his face like elastic being stretched to its limits. "There. Happy?"

"Oh. Very. Because you're **wrong**." He throws the brush down and stands up, causing his stool to topple over, clattering on the solid floor, echoes pummeling against the walls and into my eardrums. With absolute ferocity the Joker grabs a hold of my chair and pulls me back to the center, my eyes flinching at the loudness of the squeaking. This man of predictable unpredictability kneels before me and reaches toward my breasts. Instinctively, I try to scoot back but he moves one of his grabbing hands down to the chair to hold it in place.

"No no, my dear. You stay..." His hand inches closer, "Right..." I close my eyes and wait for the hostile violation, "Here." His hand warmly cups one of my chained up breasts. As if inspecting a watermelon, the Joker weighs it in his hand, staring at it with a critical eye. Well that doesn't make me feel self-conscious at all. Does he like them bigger? Smaller?

"It's perfect. Is..." He moves his hand to the other one, a very pleased look of surprise washes over his features. "Yes. That's...hm."

"Look. Joker." He drops his hand, almost in the manner that a child hides the cookie that he just stole. "If you're going to fondle me, at least include me in it. I'm not your toy." That familiar smile peels over his chapped lips before he licks them again.

"Wrong again~ If you weren't my toy then I wouldn't be able to _play_ with you." His hand reaches back to the breast that it left, fingers dexterously finding my already erect nipple through the camisole that barely hangs onto my chest. My breathing hitches in my throat as I protest against my escalating moan's escape. "Oh, just let yourself go _ooo_..." His knees scoot closer to my position, shifting his body in such a way as to let his face get close to my other breast, tongue coming out to greet it...

"Stop! Stop...please..." What am I _do_ ing? I want this. I can feel it in my really wet jimjam bottoms...An evanescent look of concern flashes over his eyes before he replaces it with the most devious of eye crinkling.

"Stop? **Stop**? But we just got started, pretty _woman_." His tongue darts out of his mouth again, lightly brushing against the fabric of my other nipple...the one that isn't being pinched. My head rolls back on my neck as a very strangled moan escapes my lips. "Mmmm...." He pulls his tongue back into his mouth and sits up a little better. "That might be the only sound better than screams of pain." He looks down to my pajama'ed crotch, blood stains from his earlier 'magic trick' sprinkled across them. With a lick of his lips, I can tell he's thinking about what's underneath...all that extra salivation sparkling in contrast to the red paint that he uses to hide the better part of his face. "Well. Maybe not. Do you remember what I told you I wanted?"

"Y...you said you wanted to hear me scream...watch me suffer." The feelings of wanting to cry and wanting to be pleasured by this man are tearing me apart inside. 

I look down into his smiling eyes--   
_That_ was a mistake. 

Reels of pleasure lubricate my innards, propelling a whispered moan and a loss of resistance to gravity in my head. It's a good thing I'm in chains...

"There's more than one way to do both of those things." Through very weak vision I can see his eyes fall to my breasts again, desire so obviously entrapping his senses. The hand on my breast dips down toward my stomach where a larger patch of fabric is exposed. He looks me in the eyes. 

"If I let go of the chair, will you sit there like a good girl?" I bite my lip, honestly not sure; I nod my head, though, needing his other hand on my flesh. A toothy grin flashes over his face before he becomes serious again, apprehensively moving his hand off of the chair toward my stomach. The man loosely wraps his fingers around the fabric there, still looking me dead in the eye. Something about that gaze is giving me the chills...I go to say no again but in the stead of my words, my teeth find the plush of my lip again, eating into the poor thing like it's the first bite of dessert.

He doesn't want to hear my meager protests.

I don't want to let them loose.

His eyes finally remove themselves from mine as soon as he's sure that I won't try and scoot away. Licking his lips once more, the Joker grips around the cloth and with the most gentle of pulls, starts to draw the camisole down my breasts underneath the chains. The chain hits my skin but the feeling is really just heavy, hard heat. He kept the chain on my body long enough for it not to shock me when it touched my skin...or...did he not even plan this out?

Amazingly, he's getting along without a hitch, the chain not slipping down my chest as he continues in his manipulation...but the chill of the room grabs at my skin and makes me shiver, goose-bumps now covering me.

"Oh...oh, do you like this?" He lets out a very mellow chuckle, his eyes once again holding mine in the most comfortable captivity. I feel a release of tension relax against my still-clothed abdomen. With bated breath, my eyes flicker down to his ever-closer-creeping hands...As soon as I can feel his warm flesh hit my frigid nipple, a hushed, rounded coo falls off my tongue. My sight rolls up to his face, so curious to know if he's really enjoying himself.

And oh boy, is he. Elation streams from every crack of his makeup. _It's almost all worn off now_...

"Take your paint off." The voice that I hear from my own throat is strong and commanding, nothing like how I feel and _very_ inappropriate for my current physical circumstances. His eyes instantly snap to mine again, eyebrows raised and lips pulled into a very surprised 'o'. 

"Only my paint?" His loud laughter once again molests the silence of the room, the bare walls exacerbating the lovingly irritating sounds that he propels at my face. Releasing me from the mesmerizing spell he has cast with those wonderfully autumnally-shaded orbs, he turns his head toward the door, taking a quick once over of the camera on his visual trip back. "Are you sure? I've already left the shot _quite_ a bit."

"It's already almost gone now. I want to see your face. Your real face." He stops breathing for a second, what almost looks like anger seeping into his dull expression. Once he remembers that time is ticking away and he needs to breathe, his shoulders bob reluctantly. Never thought I would see the Joker nervous. 

Oh, no, he's not nervous. My mistake. 

He frantically starts unbuttoning his shirt and spits on it to make it moist. As he goes to wipe his make-up off, the man stops for a second and looks down at my crotch. 

"Um..." He shakes his head, as if my apprehensive murmur dispelled the idea of using my fluids to assist his saliva, and then starts to wipe his face like a young boy washes his hands before a meal. Bits of sweatily-wet paint still linger in small blotchy patches around his strong, angular face, but his scars are very apparent.

"Well. How do you like it? Fine bit of art, isn't it?" Trying not to be distracted by the incessant batting of his eyelashes, I shine him the most gentle, genuine smile that I think has ever graced my oral muscles.

"While I wish you never had to experience the pain that this art has caused you, I do love it, yes." His smile drops and he licks his lips. Taking the knife in his injured hand again, he resumes to hold me in that previous position...the position that almost left my cheek in two fillets.

"Why do you _love_ it?" The Joker huffs and taps his foot, bobbing his knee up and down. "And why do you SMILE so _**much**_?!" He angrily rips the blade out of my mouth again, apparently with the blunt edge to my flesh still and chucks it with all of his might at the cement wall to his right. A loud chinking sound chimes around the room, causing me to look over. The blade hit so hard that it's almost sticking to the wall...but the shallow divot that the small blade sliced into the concrete isn't enough to hold the metal and, so, spits it back out harshly, causing a clash of metallic notes with the still resonating noises of the room: the low, dissipating note of the blade to the wall, the clenching of the Joker's fists and the sound of our out-of-synch breathing. "ANSWER ME!"

With no immediate answer coming to mind, I simply look down from his now-standing frame full of menacing power. Shirtless, menacing power...and _oh_ those abs... Apparently the power of my sarcasm has finally failed me. No wit to save me now.

A sharp scream erupts from his throat again as he hits the back of the chair on either side of me with the heels of his hands, pushing one of his legs forward, pulling it back with intense might and kicking the wooden frame beneath me to smithereens with the whole of his heel. He grabs onto the wood that's still at my back just in time for me not to fall.

"Anything at all from that **naughty** little mouth of yours?"

"If I said _any_ thing, would it even satiate you?" He drops me, the seat of my chair clattering against the shards of wood that lay haphazardly beneath it. After a bit of wobbling, the seat finally settles at some in-between angle that makes the whole room feel topsy-turvy.

"I don't...know." Those dark eyes of his, dark without his make-up, carve into my confidence. "What _might_ you say?"

"I might say I love your face because it's real. I might say I love it because it's yours. I might say I love it because you didn't try to 'fix it'," although I can't bring my hands up to form the quotation marks, their presence is obvious in my tone, "like others might. You kept it because it was a part of you. _Is_ a part of you." His anger has apparently subsided, but he has balled his dirtied shirt up and is poising it at my face. "Um," is all that can come out of my mouth before the thing hits me full on, his scent wafting into my nostrils. For a man that has trouble brushing his teeth, he seems to take tremendous care of the rest of his body. I shake my head, trying to get the tickling sting of his fluffy assault off of my face. When I look back toward him, he's knelt in front of me again, this time my face very near his hard chest, his hands cupping my cheeks.

"Is all that so? Or are they lies?"

"They're truths."

The Joker licks his now flesh-toned lips and places one hand at the back of my chair and the other on an unoccupied section of my seat, his pillowy scar tissue brushing against the skin of my cheek. Attempting to distract me with a rough kiss to my earlobe, the Joker pushes on the back of the wooden chair and breaks it with ease, muscles rippling, veins rising and inflating, separating the remaining bits that even make it seat-like. He eases me down and places my hands in such a position that they don't get crushed beneath my body.

"Hmm..." His body lays over mine, unusually gentle. Smacking his lips, the man centers his face above mine, locking my vision with his once again. " _Hmmm_..." He moves his head down toward my feet, looking at their still-bondaged-state. "What should I...Hm." An unpracticed hand creeps down my partially clothed, still fully chained body until he reaches the top of what captivates my legs. The uneven rise and fall of his chest lifts away from me a bit, reducing the pressure on my hands. Before I can ask if he's okay, he's off of me, sitting with his legs crossed to the right of me. His bare back is facing me, a small portion of his underwear showing from beneath the dip of his slacks. Boxer briefs? Did he actually make those himself...?

"Is..."

"No."

"...no to what?" He stays silent for a couple seconds, shifting his arms lightly.

"Nothing's wrong." I start to wriggle a little bit, wanting _so badly_ to rub his back, which causes him to look over his shoulder at me. "Are you trying to escape now?" In a flash, he's back on me. "I'm just taking my time is all, r/n." He draws a hand up my waist and cups my left breast in his very warm, _very_ steady hand. "Can't a man take his **time**?" He pushes it up, digging the chains into my skin.

"Ah!" My brow crinkles to match the squinting of my eyelids as the pain shoots through my chest and settles around the center of my body as it writhes, jubilantly. Jubilantly...? That....can't be right...

"See? Don't **rush** me!"

"O-Okay! Ah!" Coarsely, he pushes the chain in a little bit higher on my breast..."Ahhh!" The moan escapes my lips before I can even _begin_ to realize what's happening. 

"Ohhhhh...hehehahaha..." The Joker stiffly brushes his lips against mine before leaning down to kiss the flesh of my neck. He plucks at my nipple through a link of the cold chain that now lays across my breast.

"Auhhh..." Instinctively, I buck my hips up against his--or I try, at the very least: the chains are still holding me tightly to some of the scraggy shards of wood that lay beneath me. "Joker..."

"Ooooo...oh, yes?" He lifts his head and looks me dead in the eyes; his stare is magnetic...like two pools of pulsating, toxic stars...Pools of stars? What? "r/b/n."

Oh.

"Can we...move? I don't want to get splinters." A fleeting smirk dances across his scars, for some reason reminding me of an painter's brush strokes.

"If I wanted to move, I would have already done it. If _you_ get a splinter," the smirk blows up into a lunatic grin, " _I_ get another scream." Well...crap.

"Oh, I see. Relying on something else to get the screams that you so desire?" I press my body up enough so that our lips tease at each other once more, trying to emphasize my point with a bit of tantalizing physicality. He exhales, his breath swathing over my lips, chin, neck. It doesn't smell...terrible...just off...his breath is so...I don't even know. I'll have to ask him why his hygiene is so confusing. Provided he doesn't kill me when this is all over.

With a very strong arm, he picks me up by my pajama pants (giving me the _worst_ wedgie) and shakes me a few times, causing me to squirm...this _seriously_ hurts. Now I understand why bullies do this. A few planks of wood clatter to the concrete before my soon-to-be lover flings me over his shoulder. At least I hope that's what he's got planned. He could, after all, just be taking me to a special torture chamber. As we exit the room, I notice that we're passing the camera without a second thought--  
"Ah--" What the fuck am I doing? Why would I want him to tape this? Well...then again...

"Oh, don't worry _doll_ , I'll come back for it." A deep chuckle resonates in my abdomen from the vibrations of his body. I can almost feel it in my--"MMMMMMMUAH!" He kissed my butt. Kissed. My. Butt. How can he be both so terrifying and absolutely adorable?

Right. That terrifying thing that I keep forgetting about. My eyes refocus just enough to realize that I can't see a damned thing. Everything is far too drenched in darkness for my vision to collect. A sigh escapes my lips as I let my eyelids fall shut, not really seeing the point in straining what little effort it takes to keep them alert. Besides, when I open my eyes the darkness will be more visible right? What? How does that even make sense? I mean...whatever. I know what I mean. That's all that's--  
Still entrapped in darkness, the Joker lays my chained up body down on a spring mattress that feels...worn in.

"Oh, so you do this often?"

"What?" I look up in the direction of his voice, still not able to see anything at all. There isn't any getting used to this level of darkness, it seems.

"This bed is all...used."

" **Well** , I'm _sorry_ if it's not all up to your princessy EX-PEC-TATIONS." He spits as he says the chopped up word and stomps off through the darkness. Wait, how can he see? Oh please don't tell me this is some weird-ass cross-over vampire shit. And please don't tell me he's going to quote Bane and be like:

"Oh, I was born in the darkness."

"What?" My arms twitch in their bindings as I naturally try to cover my mouth. Did I really just say that out loud?

"Um. Nothing. I was just wondering why you can see so easily in the dark." I hear a mostly silent laugh attempt to comfort me.

"I _can't_ see. It makes walking around a little more...exciting." He continues his gentle chuckle. My head nods and I can't help but feel that's an odd way to get around one's own place.   
"Anywaaaay, to answer your previous questionnn-AH!" Another chuckle rouses from the reaches of his throat before he continues. "I use this bed as often as I am home. Which." The luminescence from the camera flashes across his face like lightning that refuses to fade away. "Is." Those beaten up fingers dodge around the control panel of the camera, readjusting the settings. "Not all that often. It's only broken in because I buy my beds used." The brightness is making my eyes ache... " _This_ bed was bought more recently." Accompanied by an empty laugh, his face shifts away from the light. "I, personally," The word is slathered in mock-snobbery; he crawls up the length of my restrained body and lays next to me, supporting himself on one elbow, "haven't broken it in yet." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"I can't..."

"Hm?" His unoccupied hand finds its way to my collarbone with some unsure pawing at my breasts and stomach on the way. The breath in my lungs hitches and I exhale it sharply.

"I can't see your face now..."

"One complaint after the other. Fine. **One** candle." He moves around in the darkness; judging by the proximity of what I can feel...what I can hear...I'm pretty sure he just showed me a single finger. Considering there's no laughter, just the sound of his lips smacking, tongue licking, heavy breathing, body shifting and unsure hands lightly touching around the other side of his bed, I decide that it wasn't the middle one...

A soft click, flash and flame draw my ears, eyes and interest toward the Joker's position. He holds a lighter in one hand and a rather melted-and-re-solidified candle in the other. After the flame has caught the wick, he releases his thumb and places the candle back on his windowsill. A windowsill to a rather...not there window. The entire hole has been bricked up. Kind of reminds me of the Casque of Amontillado...and considering it's the Joker...well...maybe he took that story to be more than just a tale of revenge...

"When I was healing from this," he rolls back into the position he was in before I made him illuminate the room and points to his scars with his right hand, "the sunlight was troublesome." Well that's surprising. Not sure if I even believe that. Although, the Joker isn't known for lying, is he?

My focus falls to his lips again. His scar-tissued lips. They look so...

"Ugh." I groan and look away once I go to reach out and touch him. These damn chains. I just want to--

"Oh, is something wrong? Would you rather it be some gruesome tale about how I smashed up the contents of a pet shop into a concrete grinder and then adorned these bricks with their remains?" He smacks the brick wall with an open hand, a tender love tap. "Because that isn't what happened. I assure you." The hand that just smacked the brick reaches back over to me: to my stomach where the camisole still rings around my skin, to my pant-covered hip--  
 **SMACK**.

He sure has a thing for hips and asses.

"I like the way your hip sounds _much_ better." A throaty laugh pervades the air around my right ear as he leans down to nibble on my earlobe. His teeth grate against the skin there, the soft pillow of flesh, as the hand that spanked me decides to ease the pleasant stinging with delicate rubbing. He pinches the fabric and starts to pull it down--

"OW!" I jerk up as I feel pain literally bite into my ear. "What the hell!" My body wiggles all-too-worm-like away from him.

"I forgot you still had chains around your um...lady bits." So you punish me for it? A strong arm drags me back against the clean sheets of his bed, the smell of fresh laundry wafting around like disturbed dust in the air. I look down to examine his predicament, easily forgetting about his previous assault on my ear, only to find that, yes, he did seem to make a metal thong overtop my bottoms. I...I wonder what that would feel like if I didn't have a layer between my skin and the chain...

As if he can hear my thoughts, the man who is almost cradling me reaches into his pocket and grabs his knife again, placing the blade against the fabric. With a few rips and sawing in the right places, strips of fabric fling off in all directions, some landing across my face, others dangerously close to the open flame. Well. There goes that set of pajamas...

Clearing his throat, the Joker leans back and places the knife beside the candle, exposing my body to the slightly chilly air, the very idea of being fully exposed to him persuading my hips to squirm about the small bit of bed that he has let me occupy.

"Awhh..." My breath comes out strong with my moan as the smooth metal presses into my flesh, the random bits of string and rope that hang from the chains tickling the peach fuzz of my stomach and hips. Just a little more to the left... "Oooohhh!" A rush of heat swarms over my cheeks as I realize that he must be watching me pleasure myself on his chains.

"You know..." The gravel in his aroused voice lurches my eyelids open, my focus instantly on his eyes, his lips, his _**eyes**_. "I never understood why people enjoyed watching women masturbate." Those lovely, nuclear spheres smile down at me. "But now I get it. They must be thinking of this. They must be wondering what it would be like to see a woman squirm like you do...to see her want for them like you want for me...oh...say it..."

...

Say _what_?

"W--...What?"

" **SAY IT**!" The scream comes from absolutely nowhere, stopping the pulsating between my hips instantly. My startled, shaky vision searches his features, but no anger is found, just a very, _very_ confusing patience.

"J-Joker..." Once the stutter gets itself out of the way, the rest of his name lolls from my tongue with the most natural of pleasures, almost like I've said it a million times before.

"Mmmm... _yesssss_..." My eyes casually glance down the Joker's chest until I see the rather apparent bulge that I have somehow missed until now. Wow. Well then.

"So...what, you aren't going to say my name too?" I bat my eyelashes at him and puff out my lips, innocently. In apparent response, he rolls his eyes and licks his lips, preparing for whatever it is he has planned--  
"OHHHH, AAAUUUhhhh..." His breath becomes light, flighty, like the reeling in the back of my head, the caving in my chest, the tightening in my abdomen at his un-evoked sounds. "r/n...r/i/n...r/b/n!" A hand that seems be born out of the flickering darkness cups my cheek and his lips press deeply into mine, tongue instantly breaking into the barrier that my lips have set up. My own oral muscles meekly respond, this entire group of actions taking me by such tremendous surprise that...oh... _god_...his tongue is so...experienced...

Apparently getting bored of kissing me, the man breaks away without hindrance and pulls me up with him. I can't resist...mostly because I'm chained, but _that kiss_...that kiss really took my breath away. I thought he was avoiding most mouth-related stuff, but he must have just been teasing me. What a jerk. Well two can play at--  
"Now." Coarse hands shift my weight around and slip my rope-tied wrists underneath what I should just start calling my mermaid legs. I can't bend them and the very experience of being this man's puppet is making them feel jointly numb. Lurching me forward after him, the Joker bends over to a pile of chains next to his bed. Is this what he masturbates with or something? What the hell? "I need you to cooperate." Swiftly spinning around, he pulls my hands up toward the ceiling to a metal bar that sturdily taunts me. "This will only hurt if you try and fight me."

"Hurt? What are you going to do, impale me?" He looks up without moving his head and raises his eyebrows.

"On that? No. Now come on, reach up a little." I do as he says, struggling to stay up on my tippy toes. With merciful fluidity, the man strings up the binding at my hands with a loose loop of chain. It pulls taught enough so that I'm not slouching, but it's not like he's strung me up to hang there until my arms fall off. Unhooking several chain-securing devices from their places along my body, he releases me from the rest of my shackles. From one type of confinement to another.  
Without a word, the man jumps off the bed and leaves the room.

"Um."

"Don't get your panties in a bunch." He laughs at the situational irony for a second before continuing. "I'm just getting something... _ **special**_..." I hear his voice echo off of hard, empty walls...did he go back to the room? Oh god... _wood_? I'm sure he would appreciate the joke of me getting penetrated by actual wood but I wouldn't. In fact I already don't appreciate it and he hasn't even shown me the piece that he's decided on.

And here comes the man now with...paint cans? Oh yeah, there were paint cans in the corner. So...I'm chained up here in the middle of the room. With a running camera trained on me. And the Joker has a bunch of paint and a paint brush. Isn't paint toxic?

"Now, don't worry," he raises and lowers his hands in a comforting gesture, "this is a special paint that I've had a friend make for me."

"Special." He sets the cans down and pulls a brush from one of his back pockets.

"It's non-toxic. It's what I use for my...face." He pulls one of his hands in circular motions in front of his almost completely clean visage. The candlelight is flickering across his features, emphasizing the carnal artistry of his carvings...if in fact that was really what happened. "You're _smiling_ again."

"Stop being attractive and I'll stop smiling." A single eyebrow elevates, the rest of his facial muscles static, before he licks his lips again.

"Anyway." A soft thud of the lid of one of the cans being placed on the probably-once-white carpet temporarily overpowers the gentle sound of the fluttering flame. "You might be wondering why you're here." Well yes. That was a question on my mind. "I have seen your face in government videos. You know, the 'security' cameras," bunny ear fingers and a roll of his beautiful iris accentuate his obvious incredulity at the concept, "And I've seen your...body. Clothed...but it's just as I imagined when I undressed you with my eyes." With the last word he gazes so deeply into my pupils that I don't even notice that he's dipped his brush in some paint already, he's made his way back onto the bed and he's...well, he's ready to paint. "And you would just look...so... _beautiful_ as art." His eyes close, he reaches around to place his hand into the divot at the small of my back and he dips the brush down to the skin at my collarbone, at which I let out a tiny mewl. This paint is so cold...

A satisfied moan vibrates through his lips as he watches my body's rhythm disentangle to the mixture of temperatures around me: the air that seems to be just cold enough to keep my skin needing his own to touch it, the heat that percolates through my body as he grants my silent wishes, and now this paint...this cold, white paint being dragged down my skin with the most steady hand that he's placed on me so far.

"Ah... _Joker_..." He chuckles a little, subtly obvious that he's completely at ease, before pulling away. My vision flits down to the part of my body's canvas that he's been working on, then back to him. He now holds the handle of the can in his previously-on-my-back hand and dips the brush in, out, and back at my skin, apparently not even bothering to squeeze the brush out on the lip of the can. The gelatinous paint rolls down my body, over my breasts and reaches my nipple, covering it, at which we both let out the smallest of purrs. Our eyes connect; a huffed giggle shakes my shoulders as something of a happy growl burns in the back of his throat.

" _Definitely_ perfect for my art..." He accentuates the 't' with a click of his tongue and dons a crease in his brow and some straightening of his lips, traits of unwelcomed-seriousness, as he starts to spread the paint across my s/c skin. The feeling of the soft bristles gliding so perfectly against the grain of my largest organ, the cold paint melting to my body temperature as it starts to dry in the swarthy patterns that the Joker has traced urges another moan to peal from the depths of my throat. He continues to spread the paint across my figure, walking around me and skillfully keeping any paint from dripping onto his bed. I hadn't thought that being the main focus of someone's artwork could feel so... _good_...

"Mmmm..."

" _Say it_ ~" He sings the words, with minor tones that make me think that he's taunting me into making him scream again. Well, okay, I'll play your game.

" _I like it_..." I exaggerate the moan that laces my speech.

" **SAY IT**!" He screams with the same intensity as before, but...he's stopped brushing...is he actually angry? I wonder what he'd do if I just didn't comply...

"I **love** it." A growl starts to build in the throat that he presses against the back of my shoulder and he smacks the plush of my ass with the brush, making a whining moan tumble from my smiling lips.

"I want some more of it~!" I crack out a laugh before the hard feeling of a smoothed, glossy paintbrush handle teases up at my clit, turning my humorous huffing into a body-twitching groan of absolute gratification. He presses his body up against mine from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder, the mixture of our body heat re-melting the paint just enough to facilitate the coalescence of our movements.

"Say it." The command is a whisper at the door to my heart, my willpower. Biting my lip, I hesitate. But I want to tease you, Joker...

"Make me." I bite my lip, bracing myself for another scream, but that anticipation only leaves a very large vacancy in my ears. Instead, the Joker shifts his posture behind me and places his free hand against my stomach, pressing tenderly as he begins to dig the handle against my most precious packet of nerves this way and that, through my folds, up and down my thighs. Behind me, in the safety of his slacks, I can feel a swelling...a hardening that leaves my head as good as slush. "Ohhh...Joker..." He presses his head against the back of mine, his lips next to my ear.

"That was _rather_ easy, r/n...I would say we should try for another word, but I've not finished my painting yet."

"Then I guess that gives me time to think about what you want to hear." The lust is starting to overpower my senses, my skin just keeps wanting to feel him, my ears just keep wanting to hear him pant, moan, say my name...But to my extreme dissatisfaction, he releases me and frolics off of the bed again. He rummages through one of his drawers after setting the paint brush down and pulls out another: clean, new and with a sufficiently glossy handle...Time for the next color: black. His body turns toward me again, ready to get on the bed and continue with his work but... _hilarious_. The imprint of my body is left against his front, the lightest rubbing of white paint acting as the most beautiful evidence of our intimacy...

He looks down after watching whatever facial expressions passed over my face just now. With a roll of his eyes, he single-handedly removes his pants and underwear, dropping them to the floor without hesitation.

"There. Now I won't ruin my clothes anymore." The strain that was once held against the Joker's slacks has now been released, his penis erect and the most powerful magnet of my attention. "Do you _like_ it, pretty lady? Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho..." He stands on the bed, a can of black paint in one hand and the paintbrush in the other, his most aroused appendage stealing away my interest again after I assess the situation. "Hm." Trying to regain my attention, he brushes some paint on my breasts, the black of the cold liquid contrasting so beautifully with the dry look of the white paint.

"Oh! The eyes! You're making me look like you!" I smile, looking down at his art-in-progress. A popping cackle explodes from his mouth toward my ears, causing me to easily join in his amusement. "What? I like it..."

"And you love it?" The warmest sensation teases at the valves of my heart as we stand here, bantering like lovers. How did we go from him trying to terrify me to us sharing a couple's moment?

"I--" Before I can finish the joke, he's stolen his tongue into my open mouth, delivering the most wonderful of please-shut-the-fuck-up interruptions. While our tongues dance, cutting at each other like daggers in the closest, most intimate combat, the Joker continues to paint my breasts...because I'm enjoying this far too much to even open my eyes right now, I can't tell if he's really so practiced as to just know where the brush should go, or if he's just using the kiss to distract me from further distracting him. His eyes are, honestly, probably open and consumed with staring at my blackened chest. My hands twist and turn in the ropes that hold them as I struggle against this intense urge to wring them through his shining, green hair.

"MmmmmMUH!" He pulls his lips from me with the greatest force, my moan erupting from its muffled beginnings. "Get back here."

"No." He throws the word over his naked shoulder like it's the hardest word to say. With frantic fingers, he rips off the lid to the last canister and dips a new brush in. No bucket in his other hand this time, just a dripping red object of affection that he immediately slathers across my abdomen in a tight 'u' shape. The smile. His smile. Wait...

"Is there a reason you didn't paint my face?" With a subtle dip, he gets back on the bed from having covered the canisters and putting the brushes in a bowl of stagnant water.

"I want it like that. So tell me. What does my art mean?" Cupping both my cheeks with solid, chilled hands, he grabs at my pupils with his own, locking us in some sort of lover's tunnel vision.

"What does it...mean?"

"Yes. What I just painted on your body. It's," the licking of his lips so close to mine entices me to zone out, but I fight it, "VERY," his hands start to shake again, " **important**." The twinges of the skin on his face tell me that this isn't a joke.

"Um..." Well... "Your face is on me...I dunno, I guess that means you claimed my body?" That cheeky smile tears across his face again. "That my body is a billboard for whatever it is you feel?" The grin falters a bit and his eyes glaze over ever so slightly.

"Yes...yes, that is...yes." With a turn of his head back to the camera, the Joker clears his throat and begins to step around me. The bed tips and pulls me, the sinews of my arm sockets straining in the most satisfying way. He rests his hands on my hips and slips his face into the crook of my neck. "Look at the camera with me."

"Mmm?" But I obey, despite my apprehensive-sounding guttural sound.

"Tell me, r/n," he takes his right hand from my hip and places it in my hair, sensually massaging my scalp, "have you enjoyed yourself this evening?"

Gripping spears of ice stop my heart cold in my chest. Is this...is this how he kills me? It feels...it feels so much like that's what he's going to do now. Shakily, I try to respond.

"Y...Y-Yes." I can feel his body stiffen. And not in the good way.

"W-Why are you st-stuttering?" He grabs my hair and pulls down, driving my stammering vision to stare at the pole that holds me up.

"Y-you're...going to kill me now..." I squeeze my eyes shut and try to calm my breathing down. Freaking out won't solve anything. In fact, I know that's what he likes best from his victims...Even through my almost-hyperventilation I can feel him move his head back and release his grip on my hair a little.

"But why would you think that? I've been on my **best** behaviour..." He doesn't even crack a smile, but...now I'm confused. He sounds so sincere but his actions feel so frigid. "The whole reason I **ASK** ed was to get a feel for if you wanted to...finish this tape up now or if you needed to," he shakes his head from side to side behind me, releasing his grip on my ragged locks, "brace yourself." The smacking of his lips in my ear sends shivers down my spine. Whatever fear I was feeling just moments prior has been completely replaced by such intense lust that I can't help my body from hungrily grinding into him as I moan in response. "Mmmm," I can feel the swelling of his penis against my left buttock, "that sounds like an 'I'm ready'..." A low, satisfied chuckle vibrates in his throat, making the shoulders, the arms that wrap around me now shake ever so slightly. He shifts his hips to fall into the most natural position behind me, his erection throbbing in between my cheeks.

"Ahh..." A fine mist grows within the confines of my mind, clouding my senses. My eyes close and I turn my face to capture the flesh of his neck between my teeth.

"Oooohhh..." The Joker's coo tickles my teeth, making me release, giggle and grind up against him again. We moan in unison, our bodies rolling and bending against each other as our buoyant weight dips into the mattress and pops us back into each other; his thick appendage is nearlt immersed in my heat now, teasing with unstoppable force against the moist skin there. "So...did you ever think of what it was that I wanted to hear?" While he purrs his question in my ear, he continues to thrust against my folds, the head of his penis peeking through my thighs with each slam like a predictable jack in the box.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" The strength of his thrusting is making it incredibly difficult for me to get any word out at all. Well...crap. I completely forgot about even needing an answer to this inevitable question.

"Ah isn't it~" I can feel him throw his head back as he wraps his arms around me fully, placing one hand at my breasts, grabbing them and squeezing hungrily, and the other at my clit, rubbing the top of it as his smallest head (although still quite sizeable) teases the underside. The paint between us start to melt and separate, allowing his true artwork the time and space needed for it to take shape.

"Um. Ah! Uh...!" I huff, trying to gather enough sense to give him anything. He seems like he's in a good enough mood that he'll be nice for a little while.

"Are you going to start speaking _ENGLISH_ anytime soon?" Well. Never mind. Why does he even need me to say anything at all?!

"Just fuck me!" A whining whimper follows my words like an apology. He stops dead in the middle of a piercing undulation as he no doubt feels my body cave into his; behind me I can feel his head move, his lips separate as soon as they find the cartilage of my left ear.

"What was that?" His voice smooth, cold and so deep that it's barely audible. The breath that grabs at my ear, my neck, my shoulder prickles and shocks me. 

"Nnnnh!" My head is going fuzzy again...Why does he make me feel this way? Like he's some sort of drug: so alluring yet so very dangerous...deadly..." _Fuck me_!" I manage to moan out, my knees rapidly losing their resistance to giving way. With his lips still at my ear, he smiles, crinkles of saliva tickling my inner ears, my body's hair standing on end like rolling waves of static. With strength that I feel could break me, the Joker lifts me from the give of the mattress by wrapping his hands down around my inner thighs. The chains above my head clatter at the shift in position, the black from my breasts and the red that dripped down from my stomach coating the white of my thighs around the width of his thick fingers.

"Just like this? Are you ready?" He teases the tip of his hottest organ against the wet flesh between my legs. My body is screaming for it, my mind is raging for it.

"Yes...please..." My innards writhe painfully, anticipating his intrusion.

"Hm...do you remember when I said I wanted you to _suffer_...? When I wanted to hear you **scream**...? Mmmm." With a lick of the skin behind my ear, he begins his familiar chortle. "This-hahaha-this is what I meant! Ah-hahahaha! I wanted to bring you--paahaha--to this point and keep you here! Mmmm..." His laughter calms down and he digs his fingers into the meat of my thighs. A deep growl emanates from his breathy throat, making me even hotter.

"Joker! Please!" My head falls back, restlessly wanting this man, this terrifyingly sexy man, deep inside of me to ease the aching in my core.

"Bahahaha! Heeheeheeheehee!" He drops my thighs and wraps his arms around my waist, spinning us around on his heels, twisting the chain that holds me up as it strains at my wrists.

"Joker! Ah!" The twisting is so deep that my joints start to pull from each other; it's subtle but it hurts...

"Hoooooooooolllllllld...!" He looks up and twists just a little more before releasing, causing us to swirl our way back to our original position. "Wheeeeeee!" His elated squeal melting into giggles...contagious giggles. My frustration is soon replaced by harmonious laughter, our happiness tangling like the chains beside his bed. We come to a stop, my head spun into a realm of almost uncomfortable dizziness, but more giggles persist despite it. The Joker's face rubs up against mine, our cheeks tickling one another.

"Are you sure you don't want me?" I keep my body rigid, trying to play my way into getting him inside of me.

"Oh, I want you. I _**really**_ want you." He begins to thrust again after steadying us once more. "I just really want to hear you scream for me..." The last 'e' is held in his mouth so perfectly that it draws a moan from deep inside of me.

"Then make me...make me scream, Joker...make my body suffer..." My will concedes, causing me to fall into him all over again, grinding so hard that it feels like our bones must be braiding.

"Ah..." A myriad of hushed sounds emanates from his still open lips, sounds that make me imagine that all of his blood is rushing to his--Oh. Yep. Yes, that wonderful erection that throbs up against my crack is definitely telling me I was right. "Oh, you _certainly_ know how to please a man..." He picks me up in exactly the same way as before, his hands only slightly off of their earlier imprints. "I'll make you _scream_ , dear. Ugh...r/n!" As he says my name, the Joker shoves his engorged appendage into my tight, needy sheath.

"AAAUUHHHH!" My scream is received well by the man that holds me spread eagle to the camera, his thighs clenching tightly at the sound. A throbbing pain shoots up to my left, as he continues to thrust quickly, pulling out so slowly that stars being to dot my vision. But the pain was quick and easy; now that it's gone, it's succeeded by only the most rapturous titillation that I have ever experienced. His hips start to speed up in their consistent sway, our skin slapping to the downbeat of the dips in the bed.

"Ohhh..." Images flash into my mind of his eyes rolling back in his head in ecstasy, which only heightens the pleasure that I'm experiencing, moans pealing out of my throat in between breaths. In an instant, the Joker throws me up and catches me again, his penis out and back into my warmth, his forearms now supporting my body underneath my thighs. Oh...he's even deeper now...

"Ah! Ah! Jo! Ker! Auh!" His pounding is ceaseless, filling me up and draining me constantly. He squeezes his face in between my arm and my head, ushering a breathless laugh from my lungs. Purrs, growls and groans tickle my skin as he smiles so close next to me. Our moans weave together in the air, becoming one like the sweat, the paint, the fluids that drip from our thighs. After a few more thrusts, he pulls his head back through the hole that he made for himself at the crook of my neck.

"Louder." He speaks into the skin of my shoulder that he's imprisoned within his teeth, extracting convulsions around his saturated cock.

" _Joker_!" My eyes roll back and my neck starts to loll until his next thrust, which jolts it back into strained bliss.

"LOUDER!" He kisses my skin tenderly after he shouts, biting it again.

" _ **JOKER**_!" My voice strangles itself in my throat as he thrusts one more time, breaking the dam inside of me, the tension that he spent these past hours brewing, the culmination of his game, his artful game, all come crashing down around him in a torrent of spasms. His thrusting slows to a stop and he whimpers as my body continues to undulate around him. And this uneven flittering inside of me tells me that he has come with me down the path of licentious euphoria.

"r/n..." He lets go of my legs, pulling out of me slowly, releasing what filled me up so perfectly: a deluge of interwoven juices comes tumbling out of my body, down my legs, onto his sheets. "Agh! I just changed these sheets!" He grumbles his tensions into my ear as he reaches up to unhook me from the chains.

"We can just sleep around the spot."

"It's a pretty big spot."

"We'll just have to sleep extra close..." My hands fall down, still bound from the rope, traces of bloodied abrasions lining it. He chuckles softly, once again at ease.

"Hmm...you're better than blood pressure medicine." He giggles at his joke and wraps his arms around me, pulling me down onto the small section of unsodden bedding. He flicks his head around, green-tinted waves of chestnut hair floating effortlessly across his face, and blows out the candle, once again the world going dark. But this time, the instinctual terror of this pseudo-void cannot compete with my exhaustion...cannot compete with the arms that hold me so closely now...cannot compete when I've just become the lover of fear's reinventor...


End file.
